In a time before the great kingdoms of Colton and Vermain rose to clash against each other, before the schism of Ziab and Neziab, when men and Oldlings lived in harmony, when the Relfstone was newly fallen from the sky, there dwelt a mighty tribe at the edge of the Great Northern Forest, bent on subjugating those around them. A woman-child born to this tribe, upon reaching adulthood, journeyed out on her own, seeking her fortune as an adventurer and mercenary. Ten turns later, she returned a warrior, battle-hardened and world-weary.
Vaedhal, Raven-Flies-East, and Jeth Coalheart stood watch at the crossing of Grey Fork, a good distance south of the town of Barrik, a good 30 leagues north of the Relfstone. Hither came Brenna.
Without another word, Raven and Coalheart turned and sprinted north.
She flicked the great sword casually, almost dismissively, and Vaedhal’s mace flew from his hands.
Her backswing brought the fearsome blade to rest just under his chin.
“Gods, Brenna! I yield. Take what you want, and go in peace!”
“They say that, do they?” Without releasing the sword, she knelt, grabbing his member. He gasped as it began to stiffen in her clenched fist.
Raven turned to Vae. “Do my eyes deceive? Is it she?”
“Yes. I’d recognize that shock of hair anywhere.”
“What should we do?”
Vae grunted. “We can’t let her pass. That much is certain. Flee. I’ll hold her here. Flee, and warn Darron.”
Coalheart seemed disconcerted. “What? She’ll cut you down. You can’t possibly expect to best her.”
“I don’t.”
Coalheart scowled. “You’re a fool then. Let us stand with you. There’s no way she can stand against three!”
“Don’t be an idiot. If you stand with me, all three of us will die in vain. Tell Darron, and maybe the town can be saved. Do it! Don’t argue!”
Without another word, Raven and Coalheart turned and sprinted north.
The newcomer approached Vaedhal with naked steel. Her expression was one of recognition, but her intent was unknown.
“Hail, Brenna, daughter of Torm. Well met.”
The female warrior grinned slightly. “Very well, from this angle. You’ve grown, Vae.”
“You know you can’t re-enter Barrik, not while Darron breathes. Not after all that passed. Turn back, and no harm will come to you.”
Brenna guffawed. “That’s almost endearing. You think you could harm me. Step aside, Vaedhal. I’m going north.”
“Gods, Brenna! You know that I can’t let you do that.”
“Very well. Defend yourself.”
Vaedhal braced himself for the attack. The legends talked of Brenna’s nearly inhuman strength. What they failed to mention was her speed. He found himself driven to one knee, parrying with his stout mace, straining to keep the razor-sharp blade away from him. He realized that if Brenna had wanted to, she could have stricken him down ten times over.
“You’re a fine specimen of manhood, Vae.” She taunted. “It would be a shame if I had to put a few fresh scars on that fine body.”
He surged up with all his strength, trying to drive her back, but Brenna slipped inside his guard and struck, quick as a cat. He stumbled back, desperately trying to avoid the blade.
It passed within a hair’s breadth of his face, and he cried out. “Stop! By order of our clan-chief, Darron…”
She flicked the great sword casually, almost dismissively, and Vaedhal’s mace flew from his hands.
Her backswing brought the fearsome blade to rest just under his chin.
“Gods, Brenna! I yield. Take what you want, and go in peace!”
“Take what I want, hey? Mayhaps I will.”
“Name it.”
She moved the wicked blade away from his throat, lowering it until the point was level with his navel. “Get rid of your breechclout.”
“Wha…” he began to respond.
“You said I could take anything. So I’m taking your offer. Strip off your clothes and toss them over on the river bank.”
“Brenna,,, my troth,,,”
“I don’t see her anywhere. Do you?”
“Brenna…”
“Save it. It’s been six days’ hard march from Yellowbridge, and I have my needs. I hold your life in my hands, fool. What’s it to be?”
With no other choice open to him, he shucked his breechclout and boots and tossed them over onto the river’s bank. He stood naked before her, defiantly.
“Satisfied?”
She stared at his body for an uncomfortable length of time. “Very much so. When I left, you were barely more than a boy, just fourteen turns, hardly knowing which end of the spear to point forward. You’ve grown into a fine man, Vae.”
“Brenna, by the gods! I’m trothed to Honnhig… whatever you intend…”
“Honnhig? So then when Darron can no longer lead the clan… That would make you chief?”
“The wise women say Darron is still in his prime.”
“They say that, do they?” Without releasing the sword, she knelt, grabbing his member. He gasped as it began to stiffen in her clenched fist.
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